The Pocket Watch AKA The Time Kurt Saved Blaine
by BlaineyDevon
Summary: Blaine lived his life without purpose, simply following the hands of time, not knowing that all it would take to save him was one angelic voice uttering the words 'Excuse me. I'm new here.' One-Shot


I do not own Glee.

A/N: I've been wanting to write this for a long time, but I could never get it right until now. Rated T for mentions of suicide, slight homophobia and sexism. This is based on two things I noticed about the scene in Never Been Kissed when Kurt and Blaine met. One being that Blaine looked freakin SAD, and the second being that he was looking at a pocket watch before he turned around. Anyway, I'm really proud of this but nervous at the same time so let me know what you think.

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><p>Dalton Academy boys have always been expected to maintain a certain air of confidence. They are supposed to smile and treat their peers with respect. Their uniforms are to be neatly ironed, ties straight, blazers buttoned, black leather belt snugly buckled around the hips, shoes shined, bleached white shirt completely stain free, and hair styled out of the face. Schoolwork was never taken lightly at Dalton. Homework was always the first priority except in instances when one was lucky enough to be a Warbler, in which case all free hours were spent with grueling rehearsal that ensured vocal perfection.<p>

Blaine Anderson was the picture of the model Dalton Academy student.

Every morning he rose from bed, tucked in his bedcovers and smoothed them over until not a single wrinkle remained, straightened his pillow, cleaned his desk, got his homework neatly in order, showered for exactly twelve minutes, shaved, styled his hair, then meticulously dressed himself in front of the full length mirror. He did not smile during this morning ritual, as it required concentration to reach the perfection he strove to achieve each day.

He carefully slung the strap of his leather bag over his shoulder and checked the time on the gold pocket watch his grandfather gave him for this sixteenth birthday. At the end of his routine every morning it would be precisely seven thirty-two. He allowed himself one minute to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and look at the mirror once more. Wiping one last piece of imaginary lint from the shoulder of his blazer, he would flip off the light switch, step outside his room, and head down to breakfast.

Breakfast was always the same for Blaine. He didn't need much. One lightly toasted bagel with low fat cream cheese and an apple. When he sat down to eat every morning it was exactly seven forty-five, giving him fifteen minutes to eat his small meal and walk briskly to class. At seven fifty-two like clockwork Blaine would pass Wes Montgomery, who spent two minutes talking about Warblers rehearsal after classes, leaving Blaine just enough time to slip into his first class of the day, take his seat in the front of the room, and begin six hours of intense academic stimulation.

When his day neared a close, he had exactly twelve minutes and seventeen seconds to go to his room and neatly stack his homework by subject on his desk so that it was ready for him later, look in the mirror and make sure his appearance was still perfect, go to the bathroom to relieve himself, then walk into Warbler practice perfectly on time. As the lead soloist, he led the choir in vocal exercises for seventeen minutes, made polite suggestions to the counsel on song choices, then began three long hours of working on perfecting vocal arrangements with his peers.

Dinner was next, whatever the cafeteria was serving. Blaine always took twenty-two minutes to eat his dinner between socializing with his peers and discussing the latest test in any class he had with someone. Once he finished his food, and he never left a bite on his plate, he would bid his peers goodnight and head upstairs for three hours of homework before hanging up his uniform, combing the product from his hair, and climbing into bed, promptly falling asleep at twelve minutes after ten.

This was an average day in the life of Blaine Anderson. And this routine rarely changed.

. ~ . ~ .

On Friday nights, after Warblers rehearsal, Blaine was permitted to go home. He always went home to get away from the steady, fast pace of Dalton. He loved Dalton. It kept him structured. It gave him a safe place to hide. It did not give him hope.

When Blaine went home, he would carefully fold his uniform and pack it into a hard suitcase to be dry cleaned and pressed over the weekend. Then he would dress himself in jeans and a cardigan of some sort, usually red. His mother would pick him up, they would drop off his uniforms at the cleaners, then he was taken home.

Blaine loved his parents. Don't ever think differently. His mother was loving, caring, doting, and all around amazing. She treated him like her little angel and made sure to give him as much, if not more attention as she gave her other three children. She would listen to him talk each night before bed about his week at Dalton, although there was rarely a new story to tell.

You see, Blaine lived on a schedule. He lived his life by the pocket watch he always kept close, striving to meet or beat mental deadlines he set for himself. He wanted perfection. He wanted to be better than those who had looked down on him in the past. There was no room in Blaine's life for friends, or love, or anything that remotely mirrored the life of a normal teenager.

But perhaps I should backtrack and explain things just a little further.

The reason Blaine Anderson attended Dalton Academy was that he happened to be gay.

And yes, by gay I mean he liked boys. He didn't have a type of boy that he liked. Just _boys_. Saying the word in his mind was enough to send a jolt of electricity through him, a raw fiery passion that reminded him of how much he liked boys.

However, Blaine had spent a considerable amount of time running from these feelings due to several rather painful factors, and liking boys had somehow not made it into his daily schedule.

This often led to an intense frustration on Blaine's part. He allowed it to settle for weeks at a time before he would take time out of his weekend at home to take a nice long shower in which he entertained himself. The rest of the time, he refused to think about boys and how, well, _gorgeous_ a lot of them were.

Because boys didn't fit into his schedule.

And there was a reason for that.

That reason had a name, or rather a title.

Dad.

Before I get to the real juice of this story, you'd probably like to hear a little more about Dad.

Dad wasn't an unpleasant man. He was older than the other fathers with thick framed glasses perched high on his nose and a cigar always in his hand. Dad flaunted wealth and exuded pride and expected his children to do the same. Dad was very old fashioned, he believed in a good structured lifestyle for young boys, thus his agreement to send Blaine to Dalton.

Dad was also a tiny bit afraid. He wanted to keep a tight rein on his son. He wanted Blaine to know what it was like to be a real man before he went off and made decisions that pointed otherwise. When Dad had gotten the phone call that his son had been beaten badly and was in the emergency room, he had taken his sweet time, letting Blaine savor the pain and realize there were consequences for any such choices.

When Blaine had pleaded with him to help him find some place new to go, Dad had suggested Dalton Academy. It was a good choice because even if Blaine insisted on continuing with his lifestyle choices, he would at least have a good solid education at renowned school to put on his resume.

Of course, this pseudo-acceptance of Blaine's choices did not keep Dad from trying. There had been the car that he'd bought and had towed into the driveway, where it sat blocking in the Lexus he'd bought Blaine for his sixteenth birthday. Dad gave him two choices, help him rebuild the car or spend the summer inside away from his peers.

Blaine had chosen correctly for once in Dad's eyes. He'd chosen the car.

Dad did not have fun rebuilding that car because at the end of the project, Blaine still thought the weatherman was a handsome specimen. Dad and Blaine continued to have a strained relationship, but it wasn't for lack of trying on both sides.

Which leads us straight into the story.

It was the third weekend in November. Blaine was home, lounging on the porch swing engaging in his daily two hours of reading. While his siblings vegetated in front of the television with the company of their nannies, Blaine always found comfort in a good book. He would gather something off the shelf, walk around until he found a comfortable place to sit, glance at his pocket watch to note the time, and begin to read.

Depending on the book, Blaine could make it through roughly one hundred and fifty pages in two hours. When he reached that page, he would glance at his pocket watch. If he still had time left, he would keep reading. If not, he would hurry upstairs to deposit the book back on the shelf, looking at the author's name and finding the exact spot in the alphabetized books where it belonged.

On his way back downstairs after reading one hundred and fifty-seven pages of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, he quickly made his way downstairs to help his mother set up for dinner.

Mother was always nice to Blaine, probably to compensate for Dad. Some nights Dad did not take dinner with his family, and those were the nights where Blaine could relax and take longer than the twenty-two minutes he usually allotted for dinner. When Dad was around, Blaine would be finished eating in fifteen, then excuse himself to spend the remaining seven in the kitchen scrubbing pots and pans.

Tonight was no different, except when Blaine excused himself to go into the kitchen, Dad spoke.

"No you don't, son. You'll sit right here and let the women do the women's work." Dad looked up at him as he cut a bite of his steak and shoved it greedily into his mouth.

"Yes, sir," Blaine said quietly, gripping the chair beneath him as he glanced uncomfortably around the table.

"So, Blaine, I heard they're having a dance with that Crawford girls' school. You gonna ask one of the pretty ladies to go with you?" Dad asked, his mouth still full of food. Blaine tried to avoid eye contact with Dad because Dad knew his answer and wouldn't like it.

"I'm not going to the dance, sir," Blaine answered stiffly. He hadn't gone to a dance since _the incident_.

"Why not? How else are you going to find yourself a woman?" Dad asked gruffly.

"I don't like girls, sir," replied Blaine, who kept his head down.

"Don't matter if you like them, boy. Every man's got to have one." Dad's tone was getting angrier, as it often did when they reached this topic of conversation. Dad couldn't understand why Blaine wouldn't want someone to cook and clean and do his laundry for him. Dad didn't understand that Blaine was perfectly fine doing those things for himself if he could find a gorgeous boy to hug and kiss and go on dates with.

"I don't have time," Blaine said, his subconscious mind driving his arm to pull the pocket watch from his pocket and glance down at it. He had been there twenty-five minutes. Three minutes longer than normal. It was beginning to get uncomfortable. "Between schoolwork and Warblers, there isn't time for…_girls_." _Or boys_.

But Blaine didn't actually say that last part.

"You've got to make time for women, boy. Impress them. Woo them. Make them love you. Then once you've got 'em, never let 'em go," Dad said, his voice loud like it got when trying to prove a point. A point that Blaine never seemed to understand.

"My prior commitments are more important," Blaine muttered. "There simply isn't enough time."

"What's the matter with you, boy? Didn't they ever tell you that being a fag doesn't mean that you can't choose a normal life?" Dad questioned angrily. Blaine stiffened, Mother gasped, and his little sister looked confused.

"Please don't call me that, sir." Blaine gathered enough strength to raise his head and look Dad in the eye.

"What?" Dad set his utensils down. "What did you just say to me?"

"I asked you if you could please stop calling me a…_fag_." Blaine struggled to say it himself. To him there was nothing wrong with the feeling, it was just he hadn't had a reason to fit being gay into his schedule beyond his biweekly moments alone in the shower.

"No," Dad said. "I'll call you want you are. And you'll be happy that I call you at all."

Blaine's shoulders were so tense he was trembling, and he glanced down at his pocket watch again. It had been thirty-seven minutes. He ached to leave the room. To get away from Dad.

"Roger, leave the boy alone," Mother final spoke up.

"If he wants to be funny like that then he's going to have to pay the price," Dad snapped. He turned to Blaine. "Go up to your room. I don't want to see you again until you're walking out that door to go back to that damn school."

Blaine nodded, slipped his pocket watch into his pocket, then stood and walked quickly towards the stairs. It took him two minutes to reach his room from the kitchen, and when he did, he locked himself inside to wait out the next twenty-three hours and fourteen minutes.

All the while it seemed to occur to him.

His life gave him no satisfaction whatsoever.

He had nothing to live for besides time.

. ~ . ~ .

Upon this realization, Blaine decided one thing was going to have to happen. He was going to have to disrupt his schedule. And when that thought physically pained him, he _knew_ that he was broken beyond repair. The absence of love in his life had taken a toll.

He had family, but not loved ones.

He had peers, but not friends.

He'd never had a boyfriend, and he wasn't about to take a girlfriend.

No one _wanted_ him.

The teachers at Dalton liked him well enough. His charm and dapper personality and punctuality made him a top student. The students at Dalton liked him, too. People liked to know him, and they liked to sit around him to copy off his always finished homework. The Warblers really liked him, but only for his voice which was sure to win them Nationals this year.

But of all those people, Blaine had not one true friend he could look to and tell all his problems to. He had no one. Nothing. Nothing but his pocket watch and the steady ticking of time.

Time was wearing Blaine thin, though. Time was forcing him to grow older, to come face to face with harsh realities about how lonely he was. The pocket watch angered him, and the Tuesday after the talk with Dad that still couldn't vacate his mind, Blaine made plans to throw that pocket watch to the ground and stomp it to little pieces.

But he would only do so precisely four minutes before he killed himself.

. ~ . ~ .

On Wednesday, Blaine woke up and sat up in bed. He tucked in his bedcovers and smoothed out the wrinkles. He deviated from his routine here. Instead of straightening his desk, he took a quick shower. Ten minutes, not twelve. His shave was sloppy, missing a small spot by his left ear. He quickly styled his hair, threw on his uniform, tucked his assignments into his bag, and finally he pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a black pen and began to write something that read a little like this:

_Dear Family, Peers, and Teachers at Dalton,_

_If you are reading this then I, Blaine Anderson, am most likely dead. The only explanation I can offer is that I have received no fulfillment in my seventeen years of living. I have lived on a meticulous schedule free of love and friendship, and I simply cannot take it anymore. _

_For seventeen years, this Warbler has been caged by time and expectations, but now I have unlocked the cage and set myself free. _

_I am sorry it had to happen this way, but the only way to stop this decision is if someone sends me an angel that gives me a reason to change my mind. We all know that if you're reading this, that did not happen._

_I'm sorry_

_Blaine_

When he finished the letter, he laid it perfectly in the center of his desk, gathered his things, and headed down to breakfast. According to his pocket watch, he was three minutes early. Instead of his usual breakfast, he opted for a bowl of Frosted Flakes. He took his time eating the, savoring the sugary sweetness in his mouth and sipping down the milk that remained in the bowl. He ate three bowls and sighed contently when he was done.

He headed to class, and when he passed Wes, he actually stopped and engaged in conversation with him.

"How are things?" Blaine asked, not used to talking to the boy outside of Warblers rehearsal.

"They're going great. I met this new girl last night and we're gonna go out again soon," Wes said, smiling mischievously. Blaine returned the smile and bid Wes goodbye. Before leaving Wes added, "Don't forget senior commons, right after lunch."

Blaine smiled and nodded. He knew. It was part of his plan.

That day, the Warblers had planned an impromptu performance in the senior commons. They were performing one of Blaine's favorite songs, and he would allowed himself one moment of joy, one last time to shine in the spotlight, before he would sneak off campus to do what he'd been planning since the night before.

His day passed by quite quickly, actually. He rather enjoyed it as well. He was late to first period, sat in the back of the room during second period, and third period was spent daydreaming as he gazed longingly out the window at leaves that fell from the branches of the trees outside.

For lunch, he took as much variety as he could and piled it onto a plate, then ate as slowly as he could, savoring the taste. Soon, he glanced at his pocket watch, and realized it was time for the Warblers performance. He went slowly, taking the long way, walking up the stairs and through the corridors to the grand staircase, where everyone was hurrying to get to the senior commons.

He took a deep breath and headed down the stairs. His heart pounded not out of nervousness for the performance, but what was coming after. This was it. In twenty minutes he'd be outside somewhere, staring at his broken pocket watch, ready to fly from his cage and take the plunge into the unknown.

No one else knew, but in twenty minutes, Blaine Anderson would cease to exist.

Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs he pulled out his pocket watch, making sure he wasn't late. He had one minute and thirty-six seconds to get to the senior commons and he wasn't going to risk being—

"Excuse me?"

Blaine felt something shoot through his body and force him to stop and look at the source of the almost angelic voice. He turned around to see the most beautiful boy he had ever seen standing there, looking lost and out of uniform. Something in Blaine's chest seemed to expand and before he knew it, he was depositing his pocket watch into his blazer pocket as that melodic voice spoke again.

"Can I ask you a question? I'm new here."

Blaine couldn't resist the smile that tugged his lips upward. He moved forward and extended a hand.

"My name's Blaine."

The beautiful boy's blue eyes widened and he hesitated before accepting Blaine's hand. The boy's palm was so soft and pale and Blaine felt like a blissful fire shot through his fingers, up his arm, and straight to his heart.

"Kurt," the boy said.

Kurt.

_Kurt_.

His name was perfect. Blaine forgot about the Warblers, time, his pocket watch, his imminent death, all because of_ Kurt_. The pale boy in front of him could very well be the angel he was looking for. _But where were his wings_? It didn't matter because just looking at the boy made Blaine grin wider than he had in years. He couldn't help it! Something about _Kurt_ made him feel…indescribable.

"So what exactly is going on here?" Kurt asked, glancing around at the groups of boys that rushed past them.

_Kurt_ kept talking to him. Kept looking at him with those sparkling eyes. The more time they spent standing there, the more Blaine felt himself grasping onto something, forgetting that he was lost, thanking time for slowing down so he could have this moment to look up at this _angel_.

"The Warblers!" Blaine said excitedly, seeing the surprised look on Kurt's face. "Every now and then they throw an impromptu performance in the senior commons. It tends to shut the school down for a while."

Kurt looked at all the Dalton boys rushing in groups to see the Warblers perform, where Blaine should be but he wasn't because he was standing there with Kurt.

"So, wait, the glee club here is kind of cool?" Kurt asked. Blaine smiled even wider. This angel had _no idea_.

"The Warblers are like rock stars!" Blaine smiled. Suddenly he felt an odd sensation. A need to impress Kurt. To show him that _he_ was a Warbler and _he _was like a rock star and there was another feeling in there too, but Blaine simply could not think of it.

Kurt raised his perfectly shaped eyebrows, almost impressed, Blaine reached for his hand again and he had no idea it would feel so_ right_ to touch another person.

"Come on," he said, squeezing Kurt's hand. "I know a short cut."

And so Blaine led Kurt down another corridor, running because he knew he was late already but making sure Kurt was with him because something inside of him told him that this was important. Making sure Kurt saw this was important.

When they entered the senior commons, Kurt paused and looked around. Blaine stopped and looked at him, sensing confusion and unease in those eyes of his. Blaine wanted to comfort him and tell him it was alright. It was obvious Kurt wasn't the new kid like he claimed, but Blaine couldn't think about that right now. Time was moving too quickly. Time was making him have to step away from Kurt when all he wanted was to know if Kurt was maybe a little like him and would be interested in being something, to Blaine.

Something worth living for.

"I stick out like a sore thumb," Kurt said, biting his lip in the most adorably nervous way Blaine had ever seen. Unable to resist the urge, Blaine reached forward and straightened the lapel of Kurt's obviously not Dalton issue jacket. His heart gave another surge in his chest as he felt for a split second the warmth that Kurt radiated.

"Next time don't forget your jacket, new kid, and you'll fit right in." Blaine smiled teasingly. He set his bag aside and stepped away from Kurt. "Now if you'll excuse me."

He moved back to join the Warblers as they began the harmonies for the beginning of Katy Perry's Teenage Dream. It was his favorite song, but suddenly, as he sang it, he realized that it meant so much more.

The whole time he sang the song, which he had been looking forward to all day simply because he liked it, he could not look away from Kurt. He sang it to Kurt, watching the emotions on Kurt's face as they locked eyes every few seconds.

Time no longer mattered to Blaine, as the more he sang to Kurt and the more he watched Kurt's face, he felt the bars of his cage fading away, crumbling into dust and drifting away, until all the was left was the bottom of the cage, rising up and putting him high above all the others.

This feeling became rooted deep within him and it anchored him to this world. His plans for the day forgotten and his schedule torn to pieces. The moment he was in was all about the song and Kurt and the Warblers and the kind of feelings Blaine had been longing for.

His smile was no longer an act, and as the Warblers finished the song he extracted himself from the group to find Kurt standing there, as though he waited for him.

"So what did you think?" Blaine asked, eager to hear if Kurt had been properly impressed or not.

"That was amazing," Kurt said, grinning widely as he gripped the strap of his messenger bag.

Blaine offered to walk him to class, knowing that he wasn't really a student, and Kurt declined, saying he really could find his way on his own. Blaine hesitantly let him go, but requested they trade phone numbers in case Kurt needed anything.

Kurt agreed and when they said their goodbyes, Blaine watched him leave before running across campus to his room, bursting through the door, and finding the note on his desk. It was still there as he had left it, and he promptly ripped it to shreds. He opened up his window, leaned outside and tossed the tiny bits of paper into the air. They separated and drifted off in the breeze, and Blaine watched them for a moment before pulling back and standing up in his room.

He finally pinpointed that feeling in his heart.

Something he'd been lacking very much in his seventeen years.

Love was there, yes indeed. But that's not what I'm talking about.

Blaine Anderson closed his eyes and collapsed on his bed, not caring about class or homework or Warblers or wrinkled bedcovers or uniforms or perfectly styled hair, or even _time. _

Because Blaine Anderson had discovered, in the angel that called himself Kurt, the will to live.

. ~ . ~ .

When Blaine finally decided he should actually go to class, better late than never, he didn't stop to adjust his uniform or fix his wrinkled bed. He did, however, take the pocket watch from his blazer and deposit it safely in the bottom drawer of his desk.

He would never carry it with him again.

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><p>Let me know what you thought :)<p> 


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